All is Not Well
by ncfan
Summary: -Fred, George, Percy, Molly- Molly was the only one in the family who could never tell them apart and Percy was the only one who always could.


**Characters**: Fred, George, Molly, Percy**  
>Summary<strong>: Molly was the only one in the family who could never tell them apart and Percy was the only one who always could.**  
>Pairings<strong>: None**  
>Author's Note<strong>: Little kids don't have a whole lot of empathy, not usually. Just remember that.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

><p>Try as she might, Molly had never been able to tell the Twins apart. It was a source of shame for her, that she couldn't even identify two of her own children correctly half of the time. If she called Fred "Fred" and George "George" it was purely a happy accident and the Twins knew that.<p>

As such, they, sensing yet another opportunity for mischief, were more than happy to take full advantage of that.

-0-

_August 2, 1986_

"Come on, boys!" Fred and George could hear their mother shouting from downstairs, her voice growing increasingly shrill and desperate. Their grins grew immediately in scope and they knew that if their mother could see them now she would likely think they were plotting to burn the house down again.

No, not this time. What Fred and George were plotting this time was something a bit smaller in scale.

"BOYS!"

Fred grinned at his brother. "Ready, George?"

"Ready, Fred."

And with that they barreled downstairs. Molly was, of course, waiting for them with her brow heavily furrowed and her hands on her hips. Bill and Charlie were hiding smiles, Ron and Ginny looked bored and Percy was glaring at them with the sort of look that read _"Seriously?"_, though his glare wasn't nearly as fierce as their mother's.

"I told you to be down fifteen minutes ago," Molly hissed, but she still looked far more frazzled than genuinely fearsome. "We're going to be late for lunch with the Fawcetts in London; do you have any idea how long I've been planning this?"

"Three months, a week and two days," Fred answered confidently. It wasn't like Molly had ever made a secret of the fact that they were all going to have lunch with the Fawcetts in Diagon Alley.

Molly sighed, slapped her hip and looked critically at George's rumpled collar. "George, I want you to go up and—"

"I'm not George, he is!" George protested, pointing to Fred and managing not to grin evilly—he was rather proud of the restraint that required.

Fred nodded, looking highly affronted and crossing his arms across his chest. "Honestly, you still can't tell us apart, can you Mum?"

For a moment, Molly looked like she was about to hyperventilate, spots of red, not of anger but of mortification that she couldn't tell them apart _again_, appearing at the top of her cheeks. It was all the Twins could do not to adopt their trademarked Cheshire Cat Grins®.

Then, a small snort emerged from further into the living room.

Percy glared at them both as he stepped forward, muttering, "Come off it, both of you."

Before the Twins could react, Percy got behind them and looked up at his mother. "This is Fred—" he pointed to Fred "—and this is George," he said firmly, pointing to George. "George hasn't got as many freckles as Fred, remember?"

Molly smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Percy. Alright—" she addressed the crowd at large "—into the fire, one at a time. Bill, you take Ginny; Charlie, take Ron."

Fred and George simultaneously stuck their tongues out at Percy, who as usual pretended not to notice in a decidedly supercilious way, and they both resolved to rub his pillow down with itching powder again when they got home.

-0-

That was the problem, at least if you asked Fred and George. Percy had always been able to tell them apart, no matter what the Twins did to disguise themselves. Their brother just always knew; he had some sort of Twin radar, or something—they couldn't figure it out.

He could always tell them apart. And he was the only one in the family who could do it without fail.

As such, Percy was an omnipresent thorn in the sides of the Weasley twins whenever they were coming up with mischief, because that mischief often included them switching identities. Percy, who had no sense of humor (Fred and George often questioned whether he was related to them at all or whether he was adopted and the fact that he had red hair the same vivid shade as the rest of the Weasleys was just a coincidence), took great delight in bursting their bubbles.

A thorn in the side, but even if the Twins were certain Percy didn't enjoy these little "games" the three brothers played, Fred and George themselves enjoyed it very much. It was about as close as they got to "normal" interaction with Percy throughout the day. As close to normal as the Twins ever got, anyway.

-0-

_October 9, 1996_

These days it was rare that the Twins would come home to the Burrow for any length of time, and they didn't usually come for more than a few hours at a time. But since Verity seemed more than capable of taking care of the shop while they were gone, Fred and George were staying over for the night at the Burrow.

Molly was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes. Lately, she hadn't been able to make her household spells work quite as well as they used to; he wasn't sure, but George suspected it had something to do with the new wards and Fred was inclined to agree.

"Fred?" Molly called absently from the kitchen. "Can you come help me with the drying?"

"Sure Mum," George called, hopping up, grinning at Fred and heading towards the kitchen. Fred smirked and settled deeper into the couch.

All was well.

But the Twins would be lying if they denied that they were waiting for a familiar voice to pipe up "_No, _that's _Fred and _that's _George."_

They were still waiting for it, even if they would never admit it for the fear of what it would do to their reputations. They both missed the game.


End file.
